


I Want Just One More Day With You

by auroreanrave



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Airports, Angst, Fling In The Spring, Heartbreak, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Pain, Public Sex, Sex, True Love, holiday romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles just wants one more day with Derek for the rest of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. believe me i wanna stay

**Author's Note:**

> A song based around the idea of a holiday romance and what it might entail. All chapter and fic titles come from the Example song, 'Watch The Sun Come Up' which is about the ending of a holiday romance and directly inspired and shaped the fic.

The airport hums around them, a cacophony of voices, all accented, all individual, buzzing around. Stiles' hands are clammy around the handle of his suitcase.

It feels heavier now - or lighter maybe. He left a lot on this vacation.

He's leaving the biggest thing of his life behind too.

Derek's hand is warm around his waist, keeping him moving forward. When Stiles looks sideways, Derek's mouth is a firm line of constraint and forced neutrality, even though his eyes look sad and worn and tired.

Stiles wants nothing more than to kiss his cheeks and turn that sadness and resignation into something sweet and happy.

But he can't.

Stiles had arrived in Mexico a week ago, all pale clumsiness and eager for some sun and some fun. It wasn't until the evening that he had run into Derek, tending the bar at a place down from the hotel's beach. His eyes, even darker than his hair somehow, had been big and warm on Stiles as he served him drinks and told him stories.

They had fucked that first night on the beach, sand getting in uncomfortable places and Derek's teeth leaving marks in Stiles' neck. It had been amazing, and Derek had lifted him up delicately and taken him back to his apartment and fucked him again.

And it was _stupid_ , really. People had holiday romances all the time, sneaking a good fuck in on a vacation, but this - Jesus, this felt different.

They had spent the entire week together, long days in the sun, Derek showing him the sights in his old black Camaro, and nights at the bar and in Derek's apartment or Stiles' hotel. Derek was funny in a weird dry sort of way and swam like a dog and put hot sauce on everything and came to Mexico with his sister when - when.

Once he had found a picture in Derek's wallet when looking for some change for the busboy in his hotel room. Derek and his family, Derek all fifteen and a smile beneath his glower. Derek only mentioned his sister in Laura in New York, and his little sister Cora who helped run the bar.

"What happened to them?" Stiles had asked after their drinks had been delivered. Derek had paused for a long time, his back against the headboard, the half-empty bottle of beer cradled in his hands.

"They died. In a fire. My ex at the time, she... I broke up with her and she lost it. I lost so much because of her." Stiles had laid a hand on Derek's and squeezed it because _shit_.

"I lost my mom when I was young too. Cancer." Derek had kissed, drawing Stiles into his lap, a balm of comfort that had broken Stiles a little.

And now it was over. It wasn't that Stiles didn't have a great life back home in California - he had a good job and an apartment and friends and his dad, but it all seemed to shine a little less brightly by the time they had stopped by the departure gates.

"So." Stiles said. Derek finally met his gaze.

"So." Derek nodded, as if in agreement.

"I, um... you have my Twitter and my Facebook and Tumblr and email and phone number and Skype and we can talk if you want or this can - "

Derek tugged him forward into a kiss, Stiles' hands dropping his luggage to curl around Derek's neck and cheek, because shit - this was it. The end. Finito.

"I, um," Stiles breaks the kiss off, leaning his forehead against Derek's, "I'm sorry if I, _shit_ , I'm sorry..."

"It's alright, Stiles." And damn if Derek's voice doesn't sound so damn miserable, as if he's used to everyone and everything good leaving him. This is hard, this is breaking Stiles' freaking heart.

"You could come visit. You know, if you ever... found yourself in the area. California's nice in the summer."

Derek smiles. "Maybe. You're gonna miss your plane."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. You've got work, I need to - yeah. Say bye to Cora for me." Stiles grabs his luggage, hand slippery with sweat, his stomach rolling in nervous waves. Derek hand presses Stiles' passport and ticket into his free hand and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

With shaky steps, Stiles moves towards the departure gate, towards security checks and his plane home, his life back home, and if Stiles' eyes shine with unshed tears, he doesn't let it show, even if every step away from Derek, away from the man he's come to care about and know from the inside out, feels like a sledgehammer to the heart, and he feels like he's walking away from the greatest thing in his life.

Stiles gets on his plane. And goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One side of the story is told...


	2. but i'm going away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek doesn't realise his eyes are blurry and his eyes are shaking until he pulls the Camaro over.

On his way back to the bar, Derek resolutely does not frown. Or cry. Crying is for chumps.

Stiles leaving doesn't mean anything. It can't. The kid was here for a week. Seven days, it's barely a stretch of time at all.

The sunshine through the Camaro's windows feels too bright, too blinding. Derek has to pull over by a beach. He can see the sea through the window and he unbuckles his belt.

It's only then that Derek notices that his hands are shaking, white-knuckled and gripping the steering wheel. He peels them off and lets out a big shuddering breath. Because - wow.

He's _really_ going to fucking _miss_ Stiles.

He's had other people before - men and women alike - before they had been quick liaisons, brief sexual fusions that had come together briefly before departing. Stiles had been the first person who had spoken to him, asked about him, had made him laugh.

Derek had even told Stiles about his family, for God's sake. The wounds that Kate had left may have grown over with time, like toughened scar tissue, but they would never truly heal or truly close.

Tears spring to Derek's eyes. His hands are still twitching, flexing, aching for something - or someone - to get hold of. He'd been Stiles' first and had learnt the map of his body. Every mole, every inch, and Derek knew that would be imprinted upon his mind for years to come.

His phone rang. Derek fumbled in his pocket, irrationally seeing if Stiles' number would be lighting up the cracked screen, but instead he found Cora.

"What's up?"

" _Jesus_ , you've got it bad." Cora's voice managed to sound a wholly unique blend of condescending and sympathetic at the same time, despite the fact Derek was a whole six years older than her. "Didn't you do anything? You know, with Stiles?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Sure, you don't, mopey. Look ever since you've known Stiles was flying back to California, you've been even more miserable than usual."

"I have not. Stiles was just - "

"Bullshit. Stiles was not 'just' anything to you. I get it, you wanna be the big, tough, emotionally distant, strong-but-silent type, but come on. You're _big_ for Stiles."

And fuck but he is. Stiles is amazing and awkward and funny and annoying as hell and he makes dumb jokes and pop culture references Derek doesn't have a clue about, but he loves it.

Loves _him_.

_Fuck._

"Fuck." Derek manages, slumping against his seat even further. His eyes hurt. Hell his whole _head_ hurts. His life _sucks_.

"Yeah. So what are you even still doing here?"

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? Go the fuck after him you idiot."

"I can't. I mean - what if he doesn't want to see me? I just - I didn't go after him, I didn't ask him to stay or tell him I lo - "

"So? _Jesus_ , this is the twenty-first century, Go after him. You have money, you can get a flight out there."

He can. He absolutely can. He knows the airport, he knows Stiles' hometown. He can do this. If he's brave enough.

"But what about the bar? And I'll need to go get my passport and some clothes and - "

"Already taken care of. Your passport and the least heinous of all your many Henleys are in a bag in your trunk in the spare wheel compartment. I'll look after the bar for a couple of weeks, or however long you need."

"Cora," Derek asks, taken aback, "how did you know all this?"

He can hear Cora's grin through the phone. "Please, I've known it since that first night when you both came back to the bar, grinning and talking about Marvel versus DC. It's your own fault you're too dumb to recognise your own emotions. Now go get him."

And something rushes through Derek's chest, an inexorable flood of warmth filling him. He wipes the tears from his eyes.

"I love you. You know that, right?"

Cora laughs. "Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now go." She hangs up the phone. Derek's out of the car a moment later, shielding his eyes against the sun to open up the trunk wherein, inside the spare wheel compartment, there sits an old black travel case which Derek has carried from Nebraska to New York to Mexico, full of clothes and his tablet and his passport and his sunglasses.

He's back in the car and tearing towards the airport before he even realises he's grinning like he's never smiled before.

Derek is racing towards the most important man in his life like he's a wild animal running for his life, and Derek thinks he could fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the end of the beginning rushes towards us...


	3. hey, good morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because nothing says romance like an airport terminal.

His flight had been delayed for three hours over Tuscan for an emergency light that turned out to be a glitch, and Stiles is cranky and restless. He’s spent every minute thinking over his decision, what he’s been forced to do. He could never leave his dad, but still – it _fucking_ _hurts_.

By the time the plane makes it to LAX, Stiles is twitching to get the hell out of the metal tube that he’s been confined to and just get out. Into the fresh air and the sunshine and to somewhere where he can distract himself away from terrible decisions and heartache.

If that’s at all possible. Yeah right. His freaking heart _hurts_.

The weak morning light filters through the terminal windows as Stiles stumbles out of the tunnel from the plane. He's tired and cranky and he really can't be bothered to drive his Jeep all the way back home to Beacon Hills, another two hour drive back. He's tired and exhausted and so utterly drained of everything he feels wrung out.

Stiles might even have to drag himself to the Starbucks in the arrivals lounge and spend twenty bucks he doesn't want to spend on enough coffee to wire an entire postgrad class at finals. The books he didn't find time to read and souvenirs he bought for his dad and Scott and Lydia are in his carry on bag and feel like slabs of heavy stone rather than paper and joke ponchos.

Stiles Stilinski is at a low point and all he wants is his bed. The fact he lives with his dad, for once, isn't a bad thing at all. Going home and hugging his dad and sleeping for about fourteen hours in his big comfy bed sounds like heaven on Earth.

He sees a flash of dark, spiked hair, and his body instantly spikes, stomach rolling into his heart, because Stiles has it bad. He's seeing Derek everywhere.

He's - oh wait.

He's actually seeing Derek everywhere. As in _right_ in front of him.

"Stiles."

Oh. _Fuck_.

"Fuck."

Derek Hale is standing in front of him, passengers flowing around them like the parting of the waves, as if they can sense on an unconscious level that something astonishing is going on right now. Derek Hale, all dark edges and sweet core, looking as nervous and hopeful as a child.

Derek's hair is all flattened on one side and spiked wildly on the other, as if he's fallen asleep awkwardly, and he looks tired, but his eyes are bright on Stiles'. His clothes are wrinkled and rumpled and he's got the remains of a big Starbucks cup in one hand, his own bag in his hand.

"I - Derek? What the - what the _hell_ are you even doing here?"

"Oh, I was in the neighbourhood... what do you think, Stiles?" Stiles is agape a little because Derek just made a joke and he's here, in California, for Stiles.

"I - I thought you - you - what?"

Derek moves in closer. "I caught the next flight but I found out your flight had been delayed so I've been waiting. I, uh - I got some advice from someone telling me to man up and, uh, address my... oh, _screw it_."

And then Derek's grabbing Stiles and hauling him in, massive hands curling around Stiles' neck and face, and he's kissing Stiles. It's _so_ much better than their first time, or even their last, because it surges warm and sweet in Stiles' belly.

"I... I _had_ to come. Okay? I'm not good with all this sort of thing, but... you just mean more to me, okay? You're not just some vacation fling or whatever. And I just... I know that if we'd just left it as emails or Skype, I'd have... you'd have found someone else. And the thought of that made me... I couldn't deal with that. You're the best thing that I... look, I _love_ you, okay?"

Stiles had stayed still throughout Derek's speech, watching his strong, handsome face devolve into scarlet blushes and earnest, awkward words. He's feeling dizzy and lightheaded and Derek's hands feel insanely warm on his skin. He pushes forward into the present, feet settling beneath solid, immovable ground.

"Home, then." Stiles finally says firmly, tilting his head up to look at Derek through his lashes. "Because no guy flies hundreds of miles and confesses his love to me without getting to stay with me at Casa de Stilinski. No arguments."

Derek smiles, broad and genuine. "I'm honoured."

"You should be." Stiles says, close and intimate. "I only do this with the people that I love."

And Derek's face transforms, becoming this vulnerable, hopeful, escstatic beacon of something Stiles wants to bottle forever, and he leans down to kiss Stiles. There may or may not be the sound of a couple of stewardesses whooping at them or the delighted, approving clucking of passengers on their way home, but Stiles tries his best to ignore that.

And soon they pick up their bags, talking softly, and walk out of the airport, towards a big comfortable bed, towards sleep, and towards a future that is as far-off as the morning horizon and yet brighter than sunlight gleaming on the shore.

They're going _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a happy ending and I sure hope I provided one. Hope y'all enjoyed this.


End file.
